


King of the Mist

by Beleriandings



Series: Tales of Lake Mithrim [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"King of the rain and the mist and the snows,<br/>But what does he dream? Nobody knows.<br/>King of the fog and the water and stone<br/>Even when he’s surrounded he feels so alone."</p><p>Maglor's reign as king regent after Maedhros' capture would always be beset by guilt, as well as fog and darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this quote from the Silmarillion:
> 
> "In the pits of Angband he caused vast smokes and vapours to be made, and they came forth from the reeking tops of the Iron Mountains, and afar off they could be seen in Mithrim, staining the bright airs in the first mornings of the world."

The sky was dark grey, lowering threateningly above the lake. As always in this strange new land. Just as suddenly as they had come, the new lights in the sky were gone, turned to bright smudges of grey-yellow amidst the miasma if they could be seen at all.

Macalaurë stood on the stony shore, looking out towards the dark mass of mountain that marched through the gloom, far off on the horizon. Or perhaps it was not the mountains themselves he saw, he thought sometimes. Perhaps it was only the shapes his mind made in the darkness of that roiling black cloud that spewed from North to settle over the whole sky, drawing the eye and making the heart clench. 

 _Look at you. What sort of a king is afraid of a cloud._  He shook his head, as a stab of shame went through him.  _Somewhere in that blackness is your brother, and think how much worse it is for him. He is there because you left him there._   _He suffers because of you._

"Káno."

The voice cut through him, startling him, and he whirled around, the chill wind tugging at his cloak. “Curufinwë” he said stiffly. “What is it?”

His brother pursed his lips. “Only that we were looking for you.”

Macalaurë regarded him for a long time, before sighing. “Do you ever think…” he looked up at the black-grey plume that reached high into the sky. “Curvo, about… about Nelyo, do you ever think about the possibility that the choice we made was the wrong one?”

Curufinwë inclined his head. “I think about the  _possibility_  every single day. Just as I think about the possibility that - “

"Curvo."

Curufinwë met his eye at last. “I think that you made the right choice under the circumstances” he said heavily. “No, perhaps not the  _right_  choice. But the only possible choice.”

Macalaurë said nothing. They both stared up at the column of blackness bleeding into the grey sky for a short while, side by side on the lakeshore.

"The Black One does it to intimidate us" said Curufinwë at last, shortly. "And perhaps for no other reason but that. We must not let it."

Macalaurë frowned. “I know.” Something in the set of his brother’s jaw spoke of seeking reassurance, of the little boy who had always second guessed his older brothers, always loved so much to be right. It was subtle, of course, but Macalaurë could see it plainly enough. “Yes” he said, for his brother’s sake. “Yes, we cannot go back. We will not let this frighten us.”

He  _knew_  it was true. But sometimes, he thought, just knowing was not enough.

 

 


	2. After

Maitimo took the most dangerous of the lands of the east for himself. Macalaurë volunteered before anyone else could to take the next most difficult to defend, without even thinking why he had done it. 

To prove something to Maitimo?

To prove something to himself?

The Gap was open land, green and wide and beautiful. He cared nothing for that, not then. Then it was only ink and paper. Maitimo’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned them on Macalaurë, the new-healed silver pink scars that twisted across his brow and nose distorting all his expressions these days. But the look in his face in that brief flash of a moment was questioning. 

 _Do I trust you, little brother?_ it seemed to Macalaurë that those silver eyes were saying, familiar and yet different, forever changed. _Can I ever possibly trust you again?_

_Yes. Yes you can._

Macalaurë felt himself beseeching Maitimo with his very gaze, knowing that he did not deserve the trust he so desperately craved.  _I will be loyal. I know I did not stand aside at Losgar, and I know I… I left you. Left you to die, left you to suffer. But now it will be different. From now on until the end of time, I will be loyal to you. You must believe me, brother. And if you can’t forgive me, at least let me die defending the outer marches of your lands._ _Please._

Then the moment was over, the tension snapping like a cord. Maitimo gave a curt nod, glanced at their other brothers, and went on with dividing up the eastern half of the map as though nothing had happened.


End file.
